


Liar, Liar

by Yalu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Camaraderie, Community: love_bingo, Gen, Hell, Introspection, Lies, Loneliness, References to Torture, post-season 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalu/pseuds/Yalu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Crowley knows he's a liar.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liar, Liar

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [love_bingo](http://love-bingo.livejournal.com) Round Three. Prompt: Deception.
> 
> I can't work out decide whether Crowley was lying about Mesopotamia to Naomi or not, but for this fic I'm going with he did and all the Scotland backstory we got is true.  
> 

Crowley knows he's a liar.

Comes with the job. Wheedling idiots into selling their souls for baubles wouldn't work so well if he told them all about what Hell's really like, now would it? 'Course not. And lying to other demons - well that's just common sense. Telling underlings what's really going on is about as stupid as telling the boss you've screwed something up, only the boss doesn't try to double-cross or backstab you and steal your job. Usually.

And Crowley - Crowley has always been a very _good_ liar. Maybe it's in his nature, something he did well in his human life, not that he really remembers. What he does remember was making his very first deal - with Alastair, to get off the rack in exchange for finding someone more worth torturing. He hadn't known then that it's the same deal almost every up-and-coming demon makes in the end, but this one was his idea, and that got the boss's attention. Secured him a spot in the sales team right off, and for the first few decades he worked very, very hard to convince Azazel and Alastair that he was worth more at the crossroads than on the rack.

It's been a long time since he thought of his time on the rack.

Must be Moose's fault. Has to be, with all those sigiled shackles still clamped around his wrists and neck and ankles. Even here, in this hilariously civilized attempt at a dungeon, in the massive devil's trap he can feel poking through the thin pillow and blankets they've left him with - it's the first time in centuries that he's been a prisoner. Captured, at someone's mercy, not just held in place long enough to make a deal. It's a cold reminder of things he wishes he'd really forgotten.

Like that embarrassing spiel he'd gone on in the church, vomiting out all that stuff from HBO shows which he'd never really thought about before, not like that. He'd watched for laughs, something to do outside of running Hell and torturing angels. A distraction. He didn't _care_ about the characters, and he definitely wasn't jealous of them and their foxhole brotherhood.

He isn't sure where that thought came from either.

Maybe it was Moose again. Him and his brother, everything was their fault. They'd completely forgotten about him, that he'd been sitting there listening when Dean ran in and begged Sam to stop, both of them going on and on about needing each other and promising each other anything and everything, that they'd make it all better - he hadn't wanted to hear that. Hadn't wanted the reminder that those two actually _did_ do everything for each other, hiding in their foxhole against Heaven and Hell and every other fight they picked that should've killed them by now, that they really _would_ die for each other. They _had_.

No one would die for Crowley.

Maybe that was part of why he'd watched every episode of _Band of Brothers_ in a row one night and hamstrung the mook who'd disturbed him. There was something gripping about the camaraderie - the dedication, the loyalty. He knew idiots like the Winchesters would die for each other, but it had been so long since he'd felt anything like it himself that living vicariously through the characters... Well, he needed to understand why they did it. That's why he stuck it out. Know thine enemy and all that, he was just curious. It's not that demons can't love or be loyal, it's that most human emotions are burned away on the rack so that all that's left is thin, superficial, enough to go on but not enough to _fill_. Not enough to be whole.

Those two, those brothers - they're whole. That they love each other, disgusting as it is, is what makes them that way, and knowing for a fact that they'll die for each other isn't the same as knowing the feeling. He doesn't get why they both still think the other deserves to be loved, but he wants to. It's a nagging itch, a mystery that's driving him spare. Annoying, because in the very back of his head he thinks he's got a vague memory of someone doing that for him, back in Scotland. It's blurry, smoky, like the burn of Craig when he was a boy and the image of Gavin's face. Maybe it was Gavin, or the boy's mother, or his own mother, or maybe it was no one. He can't remember, but something in this half-baked cure shook things up in his head, and now bits and pieces are seeping through the cracks.

He doesn't want to remember. He wants all that stuff to get sealed up and shut up and go away. He doesn't need it, just needs to understand the extent of this feeling enough so he can use it against Moose and Squirrel and get out of here. He doesn't want it for himself. He doesn't need love. Everything he said about Hannah and Marnie was just the blood talking - like a drug. Not him. He's fine on his own, and soon as he's out of here he'll kick Abaddon's ass out of Hell and go back to conquering the world. Alone. He likes it that way. He _likes_ the life he's built for himself.

 

Crowley knows he's a liar. He still doesn't realise how much he lies to himself.

 


End file.
